After The Tone
by Clockworkgreen
Summary: A late night call reveals just how much weight Dick is still carrying. A late night call ends up being the catalyst to recovery and reconnecting.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Visiting Hours

Another cloud billowed over the barrage of tall buildings. The air was cold, damp and sour.

Conner looked up at his destination; an apartment building on the East side of Büldhaven. The prickly feeling of uncertainty grew in the pit of his stomach as he stared up at the complex.

Taking a deep breath, he urged himself forward. The doors were old, he could feel the buildup of grime that settled around the edges, and the well worn sheen of metal past its prime. There was no receptionist, no phone to call up to the residents. That didn't matter though. He knew where to go. With only a moments hesitation, Conner started up the stairs. It was only four flights, yet for some reason it seemed to wind him. It's okay, He told himself.

He wouldn't send me off if I'm already here.

Not Dick.

It had been over three months since he saw his friend last. Three years since he left the team. Three years since the invasion.

The stairs were slightly sunken, the building was old after all and had seen many occupants. Conner winced at the loud creak that rang out in response to the newfound weight on the floorboards.

So much for stealth.

He stepped carefully to the right, scanning the apartment numbers as he went.

Room 418, this was the place. The place were he first played monopoly with his surrogate family till four in the morning. The place where he first got completely smashed.

It held a lot of good memories. A smile crept onto his face without permission as he silently reminisced.

Slowly, he drew in a deep breath, knocking on the wooden door before him.

One, Two, Three... He counted the seconds in his head, waiting.

At the count of eighteen, the handle turned, revealing a brush of unruly black hair, blue eyes, and a smile the average person would believe to be genuine without a doubt. The smile melted into cheerful confusion, "Conner? Didn't expect to see you here."

The boy of steel suddenly couldn't quite live up to his title. His eyes grew warm and playful, a good natured smirk accompanying it. "What? I'm not allowed to visit my friends?"

Humour flashed across Dick's face, "Correct, it's illegal. I'm afraid you're breaking the law, Mr. Kent."

The realness of his smile bloomed beneath the surface as he leaned casually against his doorframe.

They spoke as they always had. It was meaningless banter, semantics lost in a sea of uncertainty from both sides. They asked how the other had been. What the team had been up to. The occasional tease or snarky comment about one another's love life. It only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like hours.

Like they were back at the mountain, before things had gone south. At least, thats how it felt before their train of quips slowed.

"So," The vigilante started, bringing up his gaze to meet Conners, "Did you want to hang out tonight or just dropping by?"

He blinked, "I-"

And then he noticed it. All of it.

Everything wrong with the image before him.

Split knuckles and the reddish undertones of hastily covered bruises. There was a bottle sitting on the living room table, the top unscrewed and half emptied of its contents. His shoulders were ridged, and the purple beneath his eyes was far to dark to be normal, and he was squinting ever so slightly. Like someone who had lost their glasses. He hadn't heard the lock turn when the door was opened.

It all hit him at once in a blur. A split second to take it all in. "No, I was just in the area. Wanted to see if you're alright."

Dick gave a soft laugh, "I'm fine Con," Liar. "Just a little tired is all." His heart sped up. "It's been a busy week." No it hasn't. He'd been watching the stats.

Conner watched him carefully, studying for any warning signs.

Anything to clue him in on what might be eating at the boy he'd come to think of as a brother.

"It was good to see you though, if you want I can give you a ring when my schedule clears up?"

Ice formed at the back of his neck. He won't call.

"Sure,"

"Cool. I'll uh... catch you later then."

"Right,"

He gave a bright smile, a fake one. Conner turned from the door and started towards the stairs. The cold sensation crept down his spine. By the second floor he felt a small shiver pass through him.

He hadn't just been in the area. He wanted to get Dick out of the apartment for a couple hours to do something that wasn't work related, it was infuriating how addicted to his job that boy was.

But, the scene he was confronted with was... overwhelming. Something was wrong but Conner just didn't know how to proceed without accidentally landing an emotional blow.

The souls of his shoes pressed down on the blackened snow that carpeted the sidewalk, as he stared ahead at the gray cacophony of darkness that passed for a city.

Maybe someone else would have an easier time talking to him? They'd all be willing, that was for sure. Everyone had been worried since he left the team. Crime in Büldhaven had spiked in the past few years, and it didn't help that Dick's day job was rookie extraordinaire Officer Grayson.

Conner stuffed his hands into his pockets with a huff, his brow wrinkled in concentration.

Maybe Artemis knows if something happens. She lived closer to him the the rest of them. She saw him more often, relatively. I'll invite her out for lunch sometime and we can talk, Conner thought, pulling out a pen and scribbling a reminder on the inside of his wrist. Who ever needed paper anyways? This was much easier.

The people who passed him could not see the fear and frustration in his eyes, nor the tightly clenched fists hidden in his jacket. He had missed his opening to finally confront Dick.

He had so many questions, so many concerns. Why haven't you called? Is there anything I can help with? You look thinner. You look tired. It wasn't your fault. Come back.

The agitation blazed through his eyes, if he had head vision there would most definitely be a few smouldering holes in the ground.

Why was this so hard?! He could take down some of the most dangerous people in the world but a simple discussion with someone he'd known his whole life was terrifying.

This sucks.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Clock Strikes One

Dick waited as Connor left, his ear pressed against the tiny crack between the wall and the door. He didn't move till the sound of heavy footsteps faded into obscureness. His shoulders visibly sagged as he turned, leaning back till his hair caught on the grainy wood of the door, closing his eyes for a few moments. Allowing himself to catch his breath. The flats of Dick's palms levelled against the entrance, pushing himself forward towards his living room. An angry glare was sent towards the bottle that sat on the table parallel to his new spot sprawled over the couch. Calloused hands snaked around the bottle, allowing it to lay loosely in one hand, both eyes focused on it and nothing else. His loss in the odd staring contest was inevitable, though no less frustrating. Dick traced the outline of letters in the bottle's label, "Bottoms up." He whispered to himself, allowing fire to slip down his throat.

It had been four hours since Connor left Dick's apartment building, and he felt numb. Empty cans of beer lay scattered around the room, he wasn't sure how many, exactly, everything was too hazy to remember.

He sat on the floor against the arm of his couch, his legs splayed out in front of him, the carpet bristling and tugging against his clothes.

He couldn't feel anything now. That had been the goal, actually. I

n all honesty, Dick didn't like to drink. In a social setting sure, but never alone. The only reason he was drinking now was because acohol helps you forget.

You don't have to deal with all the reasons you're angry at yourself for just a few hours. He could forget how bad he messed up.

If choking down bitter poison meant he could have some fleeting peace, then he'd do it without hesitation.

At this point, he wasn't thinking straight. Some annoying little voice in the back of his head begged him to go to sleep, which was selectively ignored.

The cool glass of a nearly empty bottle sent a chill through his fingertips as he screwed his eyes shut and took another swig.

His throat was burning, with the pain came the revoked pass to blissful unawareness. He had trouble remembering why he was by himself at one in the morning, drunk and tired.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, the dizziness and uncertainty once again coming back full force, tugging him from reality.

Everything was wrong, like a inverted filter had been passed over the world and he was the only one who noticed. Because it was his fault, wasn't it? That's why he could tell?

He had made the plans.

He had gone to Artemis for help.

He had gotten Wally killed.

Now things were off balance, life was a constant balancing act with only one working foot and sooner or later, Dick knew he'd fall.

Wave after wave of guilt washed over him, cold and unrelenting. With shaking hands he dug through his pockets in search of his phone.

The sleek screen threw a darker image of himself back, and with the alcohol messing with his head it was nothing short of unnerving.

Tremors passed through his figures as he dialled the number drilled into his mind, listening to the uncomfortable ringing.

A ghosting voice came from the speaker, "You've reached Wally's phone, leave your name and I'll call you back later!"

Then, the tone. Dick took a shaky breath. "Hey Walls."

AN: Shorter chapter this time but its building up to next chapter so theres that to look forward to! Thanks a lot to everyone who followed and to Bluewater7 for the review. I'll try to keep updating at a decent pace.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Receiver

A gentle creak sounded as Artemis pushed open the door to her apartment. It was around three in the morning, she had been out with Zatanna and M'gann all night, never a good idea. Exhausting though it was, there was no denying the enjoyment.

Kicking off her shoes as she went, Artemis headed directly for her room. Or, more accurately, her bed. She felt the high of being around her friends wear off, and the consequences of a sleepless night begin to seep through the rapidly fading barricade of adrenaline.

She slipped into track pants and a loose fitting tee that held the faint scent of someone she loved.

A distant smile flickered over her features.

She had gotten better.

Things were okay.

The young archer flopped down onto the mattress, not bothering to get under the covers or change her position, instead choosing to focus on the ceiling, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The shadows seemed to bloom and shrink for no particular reason, it helped her fall asleep in most cases.

Artemis lay there for a long while, content to wait for her eyes to slide shut on their own.

That is, until a blue glow interrupted her peace.

Reluctantly, she turned her head to the source; a phone on her nightstand. It wasn't her phone, actually, it was Wally's. She kept it. Though not sure of her own reasoning. It just felt wrong to dispose of it, along with other things that were important to him. Maybe it's not healthy or whatever, Artemis didn't really care. Having his possessions around were a comfort, so they'd stay.

The soft glow only lasted a moment, peaking her curiosity. She waited for another, what she could only assume was a message. But non came.

Running a hand through her hair, she turned onto her side in an attempt to ignore the message. It's probably just a wrong message anyways, nothing of note. And yet... it began to gnaw at her.

Several minutes passed, with them her resolve faded, eyebrows pinched in the effort it took to restrain herself.

A frustrated growl escaped her lips as her arms swung towards the backboard, then upwards, effectively using the momentum to sit up.

Artemis looked blearily at the phone, shuffling over to check what had triggered to notification.

To her surprise, it wasn't a wrong number, or a reminder from some random app Wally had downloaded.

It was a missed call. Three of them, actually. All from a caller ID labeled 'Birdie'.

"Who the hell..." She muttered, lifting the phone from its perch and opening to voicemail.

There were messages accompanying all the missed calls. Her finger hovered over the play button. She shouldn't do this. It wasn't for her to hear, it was for Wally. An old friend or relative that hadn't gotten to news yet. Maybe it would be inconsequential, but still. It was an invasion of his privacy.

If it was someone who didn't know, then... Well she should call them, explain the situation, right?

She twisted her logic till it satisfied her, it was a bad habit really. Artemis is one to avoid guilt, but if she can justify her actions, to herself at least, she won't lose any sleep.

The recorded message started with nothing but soft static, followed by a deep intake.

"Hey Walls."

Her blood went cold, and jaw slack.

It was Dick.

"I know you'll never hear this, and I know I-I should... I don't know. Have gotten at least a bit better at coping by now but..."

He was stumbling over his words, stuttering.

Dick Grayson actually stuttered. The fist and only time she had ever heard him miss a beat like that was when she walked with him to visit his parents graves, nearly five years ago.

His resounding voice snapped her back to the present, "God Wally I'm so sorry. For everything. I never... I never got a chance to apologize for all the crap I pulled."

Artemis's heart dropped into her stomach. Oh no.

He sounded off. The pronunciations were different. A slight accent coated the syllables, the one he would occasionally slip back into when he's tired or... Drunk.

"Everyone said that I shouldn't be blaming myself, but it was my fault."

Her fingers twitched, legs itching fo get up and run. But she couldn't. Something was gluing her to this spot.

"I screwed up, bad. And now you're gone and I can't even look any of the team in the eyes without it all coming back...

I hate this."

Dick's voice cracked. It was like a punch to the gut, and it sent her reeling.

"I hate being alone."

Her eyes darted to the time catalog. It had been sent at 1:21, panic and worry were crawling up her throat.

"I wish you were here, even if you still hated me. God I hate this."

Something inside her broke. As if a bone had snapped and lodged itself into her sternum.

She sprinted down the hall, snagging her jacket and keys as she went, panic swelling into a fire in her lungs. She didn't even think twice as the hard foam of her helmet pressed down over her ears, and the bike engine sputtered to life.

The wheels ground against the asphalt, skidding round corners and becoming blind to any red lights that intended to slow her trek.

Artemis gripped the handlebars with nearly white knuckles, her gaze narrow and heart pounding in time with the dull roar of blood in her ears. Its volume silenced the horns and shouts she received.

It had been three hours since the first call. A lot could happen in three hours.

She refused to sit idly and listen to the other two, both for Dick's sake, and her own.

The tires screeched as she slammed on the breaks, swerving dangerously into the guest parking lot of her friend's complex.

She didn't bother to put up the kickstands, instead choosing to let it tilt sideways toward the concrete, haphazardly tossing her helmet down as she took off into the foyer.

Sweat collected at the base of her skull, her feet moving to take two steps at a time in an attempt to shorten the travel time.

Abstract wallpaper and wooden doors filled her sight. A soft yellow glow filtered from the dimmed ceiling lights.

Artemis took a few light steps, landing herself in front of a plaque the read 418.

Shaking hands grasped the scarred doorknob, staring at the stains along the wooden frame.

A soft click halted her attempt to cross the threshold.

It was locked.

AN: Wow! Nine follows and a favourite! Thank you all so much for the support!

Also, a quick shoutout to my friend Rachel who was actually the inspiration for me to write this story.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: White Noise

Artemis slammed her shoulder into the creaking wood once again, no leeway given for her efforts. Knuckles littered with wooden needles, and sweat making them all the more slick, she continued to ram her weight against the door.

Panic had long since set in; One of her closest friends was hammered and having a depressive episode with no one to make sure he doesn't do something idiotic.

Another desperate bout of knocking, or more accurately pounding, on the door, hoping that he had only fallen asleep or for whatever reason couldn't hear.

Her fist fell through open air, lean fingers snaking round her wrist to prevent a new bruise on an already tired looking face.

Dick stood in the doorway, looking just about ready to collapse, the majority of his weight against the white frame.

"Artemis?" His voice was soft and raw, filling the air with thick tension. She was caught off guard, it wasn't exactly the greeting she expected, but she was thankful nonetheless.

He was unharmed and relatively coherent.

Yet her lips stayed parted, fear and worry forcing themselves into a physical manifestation.

Dick's eyes wandered to her hand, eyebrows knitting together, noticing the spots of crimson that bloomed from the miniature spears imbedded in her hand.

"You're bleeding."

She gave a small tug, but quickly gave up on releasing herself from the fortified grip.

Instead, Artemis barred her forearm across his chest, pushing him backwards into the apartment.

He had away been a shorter guy, light too.

Only standing two inches above her, it was pretty easy to guild him backwards, allowing Artemis to close the door with a gentle creak.

"It's nearly four am Arty," Dark blue stared through her, the mist still not cleared. His voice was wavering.

"Um, not that I don't want to see you, just don't usually expect...visitors this late, uh, early."

"Can I have my hand back?"

He blinked, a few moments passing before property registering the question.

"Yeah, just, let's get it cleaned up, kay?"

There it was. The little accent Dick retained from years of traveling. It had faded into obscurity while going through daily motions, but it was still there.

With a soft huff, Artemis allowed herself to be led a few feet further inside to a chair, watching with a bemused frown as Dick slipped a bottle of antiseptic from his pocket.

Why had that been in his pocket?

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Frantic uncertainty shot across his face, quickly settling back into a neutral expression. But she knew better then the trust a performer at face value.

Dick's hands shook just the slightest as he pulled at the splinters.

"Tell you what?"

Her eyes narrowed, the fear giving way to frustration, "Don't play dumb with me Grayson,"

He winced. She only ever called him that when she was pissed, her voice had thrown gentleness to the gutters, no time to mince words when it was important.

"I know you were drinking. I can hear in in your voice. You're off balance. Hell you weren't even standing straight."

With the delicacy of a bull she glared at his hands as they worked. Long hair pricking her neck waiting for a response to the cutthroat confrontation.

"A bit, yeah. But I don't think it warrants assaulting an innocent door-"

"I heard the message, Dick."

His hand stopped, everything went stiff for a few moments, before the tension snapped like a bowstring, shoulders sinking and a defeated exhale rung out.

"Oh."

With her good hand, Artemis reached out, placing what she hoped was some reassuring weight on his shoulder.

"Don't tell them, okay?"

She blinked, the fire quickly rekindling in her stomach frustration ready to boil over.

"So what, you just want me to ignore all this-"

"That's not what I'm saying." He interrupted gently, holding up a hand in a somewhat defensive manner. Like a surrender.

"I'm sick of pity, Artemis. Been getting it my whole life. Sometimes it's easier to let yourself be angry and upset and... alone, for a while."

His fingers traced over hers, like the patterns of crosshatched callouses and scars had become much more interesting then their conversation. Artemis could only stare, completely dumbfounded.

"I'm tired."

His voice was barely a whisper, held down with emotions and what she could only assume was the influence of alcohol.

"It sucks. _This_ sucks. I hate living in a world where I had to bury my brother and my best friend."

"And you're blaming yourself."

Instead of gentle compassion, or careful reassurance, angry terror took hold.

Her filter had vanished along with the fleeting clam felt while they had been sitting in comfortable silence. Act fast before something happens that you can't undo. That was what had been drilled into her head for years.

"Yeah. I am."

AN: Sorry this took longer then expected to write, but holy SHIT 25 follows and 10 favourites! Thank you all so much! This has been surprisingly fun to write and I'm really glad you all seem to be enjoying it, hopefully the next chapter will be up next week


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Pocket Full of Lies

Pins and needles infected Dick's cheek, reverberating the with aftershock.

Did Artemis just... slap him?

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

His gaze meet hers, defeat blazed hot through her winter adorned eyes, the creases on her face tight and unrelenting, filled by too many layers of thick emotions; all directed at him.

Her fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, rising from her seat faster then he could process, a shove pressed his back against plaster walls.

Hands still gripping his collar like the wicker threads of a noose she stared at him.

"You never thought that _maybe_ we could help?! For Christ sake Dick! We're your friends, you can't- you're not allowed to just... _isolate_ yourself!"

Her grip loosened, pulling his eyes downwards to hers.

"I-"

"No! You're going to listen to me, for once, please just listen. Don't shut me out."

Somber uneasy wasted no time settling throughout the room, permeating every inch with its oxymoronic present. Suffocating, yet calming.

"No one blames you for what happened, Dick, not for a second. They... they were frustrated and scared, but this isn't your fault!"

Artemis sounded near frantic, her grip on his shirt never relinquishing as she spoke.

"It was no ones fault. Not me, not Kal, and not you."

He studied the ground precariously, not wanting to meet grey eyes that were surely lined with grief and white lies.

But they weren't.

A hand dotted by scars and callous brushed against his face, gently coaxing his gaze upwards to meet hers.

There was no pity, or fear, or anger.

Only determination.

"You're our rock, you always have been. The one constant in everyone's life, like... like a safety net."

Her words were spoken softer then even Artemis was aware she was capable of, and stern all the same.

Dick kept his eyes trained on hers, willing himself to actually _hear_ what she was saying, not just let it become white noise, but his growing dizziness protested.

"And... I know people want- _need_ you to keep it up. You do too. That need to be alright... I get it."

Her fingers slowly slid from his jaw, coming to a rest at his hands, gently covering his bruised knuckles. Her hands were cold. Why were they so cold?

"But it's okay if you can't. You know that right? God Dick, it's... it's like you don't realize how close to the edge you are. Talk to us. No one even considered holding you responsible for what happened because it _wasn't your fault_ and it never was. It never was."

Dick felt his eyes grow weary, whether it was from emotion or the fact that he'd had less then an hours sleep, he wasn't sure, but exhaustion his like a title wave.

He would hear her out though, he owed her that much.

"It was a bad situation with no way out and damnit you tried to keep everyone safe. It was beyond you, something that just... couldn't have been altered or changed. I-"

Her fingers tensed, moving upwards to grasp his wrists, then without warning he felt a cool palm pressed against the side of his neck for a split second.

He blinked at Artemis, taking a moment longer to register what happened before she spoke.

"You're hot."

"What?"

Dick looked at her with confusion. Kind of off topic wasn't it?

"No, you're burning up."

Never mind, completely on topic.

"Oh..."

His vision started to grow hazy, fading in and out of obscurity ad nauseam. Head spinning, his shoulders started to go slack against the wall.

"Hey, hey, Dick! Stay with me, okay?"

He heard a slightly panicked voice slice through the insistent buzzing in his ears.

"M'fine..."

He scrubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes, trying to find something to focus on, but that was growing exceedingly difficult.

"C'mon Dick, don't black out on me."

Slender arms looped under his shoulders, keeping him upright.

Darkness crept into the edges if his vision as Artemis led him toward the nearby sofa.

Unmoving, he sat there, slumped against the couch cushions as little beads of sweat trekked down his neck, listening to the muffled words of his old friend.

Things were getting spotty, unclear like there was a fog in his apartment. That didn't make sense. Fog can't be indoors, right?

The couch dipped to Artemis' familiar weight, her eyes seemingly watching his every intake. Her mouth was moving, and gestures panicked, hands rested on his shoulders, trying in vain to ground him in some way to the land of the living.

"Dick? Dick! Say something! Can you hear me?"

That was the last thing he heard before feverish sleep claimed him.

AN: I apologize for the wait, but I really needed to think about this one. I wanted to be sure I got the characterization right. And, of course, I don't want this story to slip into mindless angst without any real... you know, meaning.

Anyways, massive thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and favorited.

My heart legitimately swells every time I get a notification. It really does mean the world to me.

Hopefully I'll be back soon with another chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Thick and Thin

Artemis gently brushed the dark, sweat soaked bangs out of Dick's eyes. They looked more like ink dripping across his forehead then hair.

She sighed, allowing her fingers to ghost over the dark bruises that littered her friend's face.

They had been covered up, hastily at that, but with the clamminess that accompanied the fever, the remaining makeup had wiped off, leaving angry purple and dark blues exposed to the world.

It was around nine am. After Dick had passed out, she was panicky, she'd even been considering calling Tim or Barbara before realizing that would likely worsen the situation.

After painstakingly forcing herself to understand that Dick was okay, that this wasn't some life-threatening illness or critical injury and just a little too much drinking, she crashed.

Occasionally jolting awake and rushing over to reassure herself that it was just a alcohol induced fever, before clocking out again.

The promise of fresh coffee drew her back to the kitchen, listening for the familiar gurgle of a mechanical barista and scent of hot cups of adrenaline.

Two sugars and milk coloured the dark brown to golden.

She took a tentative sip, before lifting the second mug and returning to the living room.

How Dick could drink black coffee was beyond her, but hopefully it would rush his coherency once he woke up.

She sat parallel to the couch, her chin perched on her palm, eyes trained on the window.

For a relatively low apartment building, the view was nice. A little collection of gardens and trees dusted by snow and framed by stout cafés and bright yellow taxis. Sprawling further were the silvery towers and glinting windows of capitalism, reverberating with sirens and the calls of street vendors. For Blüldhaven, it wasn't too bad. The vast majority the city was built like a wind-tunnel, designed to cut through coats and scarves like a razor, distracting its citizens from the dirt in the cracks of the in-pristine town.

She'd been staring out the window for upwards of fifteen minutes when out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of bright blue.

Sleepy azure irises stared over at her, half closed but definitely awake.

"Hey," She breathed softly, pulling her attention from the scene outside.

"Hey." Dick replied, a small lopsided smile flickering over his lips.

"Coffee?"

"Sure, yeah."

Despite the acceptance, he stayed sprawled on the cushions, his cheek pressed into a navy coloured pillow, half lidded eyes staring at nothing.

Silent took hold again, as Artemis tapped her thumbs against the side of her mug, her mind began to bubble with warning.

Don't speak. Don't overwhelm him. Try to be patient for once.

She repeated calming words in her head, afraid that if she took over the conversation, they would end up back in square one, with uncomfortable quite poisoning the potential for communication.

"Thanks."

Her head snapped up so fast her coffee nearly spilled.

"Yeah... no problem."

Artemis gave a awkward smile, giving a slight nod towards his mug and moving from the worn chair to sit crosslegged by the couch.

"Not for that. For last night. I needed that." He said softly, turning just enough that his arm was draped over the edge of the couch, knuckles floating millimetres above the ground.

She inched closer, setting down her own drink besides his on the low table, and leaned her head against his shoulder, taking firm hold of his free hand.

"Talk to me."

As much as he tried to hide it, Artemis knew he's a very tactile person. Always liked physical contact; touching, feeling.

Actually, after about a year and a half of working together on the team, he'd become extremely comfortable with nearly everyone. Movie nights that ended with his little mop of raven hair buried in a tangle of blanket covered limbs, and spontaneous hugs throughout the day, platonic and comforting.

It was only after she discovered his, and by proxy Bruces, identities that she had the mind melting realization of how touch starved he was. Like he probably was now.

His eyes became a little more open, grip tightening for a moment in a reactive squeeze. "I spent so, so long trying to put this away. Trying not to dwell or think about it."

Dick closed his eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line as his brow knit together.

Letting out a sigh, he continued.

"I shut it away 'cause kicking and screaming isn't going to change anything. There's no... reset button, not on this."

Again, she heard the little tremors in his tone. The lisps of multiple languages blending from exhaustion. But Artemis stayed silent. He needs a shoulder to cry on, not feedback on how he handles greif.

If a friend is what he needs right now, then she'd be that friend because _damnit_ this kid has been responsible for keeping too many people afloat for so long without realizing that he's drowning too.

She probed at his palm with her figure-tips with traces of nervousness. Just because she'd resolved to stay quiet doesn't mean she could easily ignore instinct.

"I think I didn't give myself time to mourn..."

You could've pinpointed the exact moment her heart broke in two. The word 'myself'.

Second syllable.

His voice cracked.

"It was easier. It was _my_ reset."

He rambled for a while, still sounding sleepy and overwhelmed by a rush of emotions.

It felt like days, but his ranting words only lasted about six or seven minutes. Maybe it was the weight that made time feel so slow. That the heaviness of the topic was pressing down on time, keeping it in one spot ad infinitum. He told her how dealing with pain breeds vulnerability. How vulnerability breeds fear. How fear breeds pain _so of course it was better to push it all down right?_ It was better to feel nothing at all.

Just for a little.

Just for forever.

Her hands drummed lightly against his, a small gesture to keep him grounded.

"And I know most of that is bull. Completely. Still thought I could do it though. Just keep it bottled up right here,"

He tapped his chest with two fingers. "and it'll go away eventually."

Artemis turned, locking grey eyes with blue. His lips were tilted down into a frustrated frown, reverting back to an old habit known as teeth grinding.

"Dick. You're an idiot."

"Yeah I know."

"You're an idiot."

He gave a half laugh, squeezing Artemis' hand lightly.

"You said that already."

"Well it's worth repeating. C'mon. We're going out today. Breakfast and a movie, my treat." She tugged him up, plopping down on the couch next to him, resting her forearm on his shoulder.

"I get the feeling you haven't done anything fun in a while. Whatddya say, Boy Wonder?"

"I'm still the 'Boy Wonder', huh?"

Dick asked, with a real, genuine smile.

She stood, snatching up her jacket from where it was draped over the back of the sofa. "Yeah, you're still the baby of the group."

"I'm 21!"

Artemis felt something akin to calm rise in her chest, hints of relief colouring its edges. Or maybe it was happiness. Plain, simple, temporary happiness.

This was the first time in what felt like forever that she felt inklings of content. It had been way too long since she saw a smile on Dick's face. It felt like pure euphoria, it felt like a light. He's okay. She's okay. They'll be okay

AN: Holy Aritchoky I am so so sorry that this took so long. I had a lot going on with school and such, plus some writers block.

I hope this was worth the wait. Again, I really do try to take carefully consideration to characterization and conversational dialogue. I find a lot of fics devolve into bland personalities so I was really trying to avoid that trap.

Please please read this part it's actually important. I feel like this is a pretty good place to let this story end, BUT I am definitely open to continuing. Normally I wouldn't do this but if you could just shoot a quick 'keep going' or 'leave it here' that would be super helpful.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Post Wakeup

The world is a big liar.

Not to say that Dick didn't already know that, just that there are some things so baked into human practices that you don't really question them until you experience it. Like Dick had.

I mean, really, how many times in books or movies do you see someone talk about their feelings for ten minutes and immediately start getting better?

That's not how it works, not at all.

And of course, he _knew_ this, but one can't help but hope for an easy solution.

It was four in the morning, almost a week after the whole situation with vodka and Artemis. It was the fourth time since that he had a dream- no, a nightmare about Wally.

They start out differently, with some old memories from the early years on the team. Times where he was happy and excitable and energetic and then there would be a scream.

Wally's scream.

His feet would suddenly be fastened in place, body completely immobilized for what felt like days. And he would watch as his closest friend was struck with ribbons of electricity, over and over and over.

Each time he woke up shaking and drenched in sweat. That was another thing the world lied about; you don't wake up screaming from nightmares.

How could you? When your mouth is wired shut so you can't even call out to someone you love.

Dick lay flat on his back, trying to regain his breath. Slowly, he pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and resting his hands on his knees.

Inhale, hold for three seconds, exhale. Repeat.

After several minutes, the rapid gasps faded into measured intakes.

Dick went about his regular morning routine, peeling off the sweat soaked shirt from his back and replacing the twisted up sheets with clean ones.

He'd made plans with Artemis, she'd been adamant about his getting out for something other then work, so this Saturday morning would be spent have breakfast at the Broadway Diner.

It was pretty damn cold out, but he needed to clear his head.

The chill bit into his lungs as he watched steam blow out from his lips, sharpening his awareness and bringing his further out of the daze that nightmare had put him in.

It was only a fifteen minute walk, plenty of time to collect his thoughts.

As he walked, his eyes wandered to the scene around him. The sidewalk was clear of people other then those trading heroin and gunpowder near the entrances of alleyways, and a few older folk gripping leashes.

He smiled fondly at the little dogs as they passes, wishing for the millionth time that his parents had allowed him one. Truth be told Dick was more of a cat person, but as a kid, a dog had been his dream.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of ice settling on his spine, running down his back and seeping into his veins within a split second.

His pace slowed, focus returning to his surroundings which were now suddenly empty of life. Even the cars tearing through the street had been put on mute.

In front of him, surrounded by the rapidly dulling colours of the city walls stood a flare of bright red hair and vibrant clothes.

 _Not real not real not real_.

It was Wally, walking just a few paces ahead of him.

 _Not real not real not real_.

Fingers drumming against his jacket like always, an off key whistle echoing around him.

 _Not real not real not real_.

Dick wanted to run, to tackle him in a hug and make sure it was him.

But it's not.

He knows it's not.

His feet move on their own, slipping into an empty crevice between two buildings, closing his eyes with his back pressed against the wall. Solid and grounding.

Saturation returns to the world when his eyes open, and Wally is gone.

He stuffs his shaking hands back into his pockets and crosses the street before continuing to the diner.

Repetition compulsion, the minds tendency to repeat traumatic events in order to deal with them. It can take the form of dreams, flashbacks, storytelling and hallucinations.

Repetition compulsion sucks.

That was the third time since the previous week. The first had happened at the supermarket, the second in his apartment.

It was as if the dam he built up to deal with it in the first place had been torn down and now all the symptoms were hitting him all at once.

At least now he had someone for support.

The bright logo of the Broadway Diner came into view, it's familiar patterns sparking nostalgia and tugging at old memories.

There was one of these in Gotham too, it's were he and Artemis used to meet up.

Took about a year and a half for her to figure it out, but once she knew his ID, they became really close friends.

They went to school together, kicked ass together and it was only a ten minutes walk to one another's houses; a pseudo sibling type relationship was formed over the years.

It wasn't uncommon for either to wake up to the sounds of fingers tapped on their windows, resulting in late night board games or rooftop stargazing.

The Broadway Diner was their safe place. It's where they could sit together with a plate of waffles and ice cream at one in the morning if they needed to talk, or just wanted some time away from stuffy apartments or empty homes.

The sound of a little bell rang through the air as Dick stepped through the doors, breathing in the scent of maple and coffee.

He spotted Artemis sitting at a booth in the back corner, leafing through a sports magazine, sipping from one of two mugs of tea.

He quickly wove through the maze of tables and chairs to sit across from her.

"You been here long?" He asked, internally chiding himself for having taken the scenic route when he was already running a bit late.

"Nah," she replied, folding up the magazine and tossing it into her bag, "traffic held me up a bit. You wouldn't believe how much black ice there is around here."

Her face brightened as she spoke, gaze never breaking from its study of his face. She was probably still worried, checking for signs of insomnia or indications of injuries.

Dick snorted, pulling off his jacket and haphazardly draping it across the velour bench.

"You're telling me. I _live_ here, somehow it's on the roofs too and and night it's impossible to tell when it'll strike."

"I'd pay to see the mighty Nightwing fall on his ass from some ice."

She said with a grin, "Oh and there's waffles on the way too, with whipped cream, of course."

"I owe you my life, goddess of the moon." He gave a mock bow, the pleasant sound of her laughter reaching his ears.

"So," she started, the giggles fading away, "how're you?"

"Oh you know-"

Her glare cut him off, "The truth, Dick."

His smile melted into a straight line accompanied by a sigh of resignation.

"Okay well I feel like crap the majority of the time. Like, physically. Headaches are becoming a serious problem and I know I shouldn't need three melatonin to sleep after patrol."

She laced her hands together and rested her chin on them, her eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

"And...?"

"And nothing. I just feel off."

Dick avoided her gaze, busying himself with tracing his fingers along the daily special menu.

"You literally just had a breakdown last week because you refused to talk to someone. Aren't you supposed to, you know, learn from your mistakes?"

She reached over and flicked his hand, drawing his attention back to her.

For a long moment he stayed silent.

And then, "I keep _seeing_ him." His hands tighten around the mug before him, staring into the chamomile scented water.

He heard a slight intake from Artemis.

"Split second hallucinations in really normal places. Dreams too, but they're worse. It's always _that day,_ or some variation of it. I keep reliving it."

Dick propped up his head in his palm, glancing between Artemis and the cars rushing by.

"I don't know what's triggering it either. I was fine before. Okay not _fine_ , but better than this."

He left out details, for obvious reasons.

It was disturbing enough that he had the privilege of seeing his best friend die repeatedly, Artemis didn't need to as well.

"How often? Where? Maybe if you retrace we can figure out what causes it and how to counter."

She asked, her hair now being combed through with her hands as if it were a method of concentration.

Hell, it probably is.

"Were they places you had associated with Wally? Or some kind of important memory to do with him?"

Dick shook his head, "A grocery store and the stairwell of my building don't exactly have powerful memories attached to them."

He let out a sigh, picking at the edges of a paper coster "This sucks."

Artemis put a hand on both sides of her face, holding up her head on he fingers while staring at the table.

"Yeah," she said softly, "this sucks."

Her gaze flickered over to his, meeting for a few moments before shifting to watch his hands.

"Do you... do you need anything? I might be reading this wrong, but I feel like a visit every week or so is sorta leaving you out in the cold."

There was a little rush of air as she leaned forward a bit to look him in the eye once again.

"Is it enough?"

His head started to pound as those words rang through his ears.

Was it enough? This is a lot more then a surface level problem, it's rooted in years of hurt.

Wires wove through his brain trying to connect the dots on where the line was between getting some needed help and unhealthy dependence.

If he said no she might become overbearing, and wholly make his problems her own. Not that Dick doesn't appreciate all she was doing, he does- a lot- but if it's starts to encroach on her wellbeing...

If he said yes that big dark void of numbness could come creeping back up, twisting into his spine and breaking him down to his factory parts.

He doesn't want to be coddled or pitied, but being alone isn't all that good either.

His head dipped down to stare into that mug once again, before looking back to Artemis with a dry smile, "I think it's time I returned some calls."

AN: By popular demand we shall continue! Thank you so so much to everyone who's been reading, it really has been a ton of fun so far and I'm excited for you all to see where this is leading.

And once again I have a important question; I've been thinking about an AU set in the Young Justice universe wherein Dick was never adopted and just lived on the streets of Gotham. It would be a very character driven story, focusing on Dick Wally and Artemis. Is anyone interested or should I keep that one to myself?

I won't be offended if that's not you jam, just wanna know if I'd have much of a demographic of readers if I'm to start writing it.

Again, just a quick yes or no in the reviews would be GREATLY appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Before the Dawn

Dick woke from one nightmare only to enter another. He couldn't quite remember what had happened in the dream, but it left lingering fear slipping over his skin, hair standing up like soldiers at attention.

Whatever it was, it paled in comparison to the experience he woke up to.

Everything was dark, other then the light filtering in from street lamps, it was easily past midnight judging by the absence of the orchestra known as traffic. But he couldn't be sure. Because he couldn't move.

He tried to open his mouth but it was sewn shut by invisible strings, his voice muffled by his teeth clenched tight. Too tight.

Panic rose in his throat as every bit of rational thought drained out his feet, the sickly taste of blood snaking out the corner of his mouth and pooling dangerously in the back of his jaw; his teeth were set firmly on the soft inside part of his cheek, spilling rosy raindrops down to stain the sheets.

Dick's breath hitched, his fingers shaking as they tried to move. His eyes darted about the room frantically, till they came to a stop on a shadow thrown across the curtains, one moving methodically closer to the window pane.

A voice echoed around the room with an eerie edge, humming a jingle for some fast food place.

Crap.

Crap crap crap crap _crap_.

His mind raced as the song continued, the song being hummed in _his_ voice.

He squeeze his eyes shut, drawing in a deep breath, and willing his fingers to move. The voice grew closer and louder and more off key, till finally Dick broke out of whatever had a hold on him, and sat up gasping.

He ran a hand through his hair, scanning the room for any signs of the apparition at the glass, pulling his knees up to his chest and pressing his back against the backboard.

Sleep paralysis, another companion of PTSD and Repetition Compulsion.

Yay for him.

Head resting atop his knees, Dick tapped two fingers against his chest, measuring the speed his heart should be at, trying to coax it back down.

It was getting worse.

The dreams were more frequent, as were the hallucinations and now _this_.

He'd talked to Artemis about talking to the team again, the original members anyways, but maybe he needed a bit of time away. Just a little break before- no!

No if he does that it'll just repeat. He'll throw himself into work to forget and never go back to how it was.

And as bad as this was hurting, it was better then ignoring the anxiety cloud hanging over him. It's better then letting it fester and numb everything around him.

He stayed there a while, tapping his hand against his heart. At some point he leaned over to his nightstand and flicked on the radio, listening to the crackle and static mixed with smooth jazz and 70s love songs. It was calming, a little chaotic but that was a comfort to him; after all, he grew up in a train car with a constant flow of rescheduling and bombastic music reverberating across fields of neon. A little chaos felt like home.

Progressively the darkness from outside grew heavier, thicker and more dense with silence. Right at the peak of it's lightless existence, orange and pink began to poke out from behind the rows of buildings marching off into the distance.

"Okay," He said aloud, slipping off his bed and bouncing gently onto the balls of his feet, "okay let's do this."

Twenty minutes later he sat atop his kitchen counter (who even needs chairs?), with damp hair and a half eaten apple.

He ran his free hand through the dark locks to speed up the drying, though admittedly it wasn't helping much.

The radio was still playing from his room, echoing outwards with soft melodies and the occasional spike of feedback.

He was anxious.

Anyone who knew him could tell.

His eyes were trained on one blank spot on the wall, legs both moving in time with his gradually speeding pulse.

He didn't need to leave for another few hours, but it's not like sleeping in was much of an option at the moment.

He paced about the living room and kitchen of his apartment, keeping his steps in time with the soft music as his mind wandered off.

Are they going to be mad? Not for what happened during the invasion, but for now.

For the thirty four months he'd thrown himself into work and not every stopped to think what disassociating did to the receiving end.

Weeks and weeks of absolute silence, with only subpar news reports and estimated guesses to know if he'd survived the latest mission to bust some traffickers or root out corruption, maybe a call every now and again if they had no other indication, calls that took literal years for him to return.

Funny, that.

Dick smiled to himself dryly.

It took three years to talk about any of this besides a two minute eulogy which addressed precisely nothing.

He'd been living in this constant loop of anxiety and fighting, continually terrified of the very real dangers that his friends faced every day yet being unable to bring himself to do something about it.

Because of what? Pride? No... that's not it.

Shame? Or maybe it was exhaustion?

No.

It wasn't any of those.

He just wanted everyone to think he's okay. To be better before he got better and for a while he was, bur he couldn't feel the depression setting in.

He closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath.

It's okay to think about it.

 _It's okay_.

His brain ran itself in circles for a few minutes, calming the panic that had sparked from ambers of guilt and unease.

Dick opened his eyes.

It's not wrong to think about it.

Alive, but cracked and in need of repair.

He hid this from _everyone_.

Wanted everyone to think Dick's fine, he's strong.

And he is.

But is anyone that strong?

This whole time, despite sheer the desperation and need for it to go numb like everything else had been, that little hole was still there.

Trying to push it all down was like fighting a forest fire with a garden hose; it doesn't work.

And it took _this_ long to realize it.

He was created to have an end date and for a long time the mere inkling of a thought related to that topic could set off panic.

Overworked, exhausted and evening alcohol became the norm and kept him busy. But the little void stayed.

You can break you brain doing that.

Dick knows that.

He did.

But it didn't stop him from driving stake after stake into his life and somehow expected to be able to keep it together.

It doesn't work.

Ten forty-seven.

"Okay. I got this."

AN: Phew that took longer then I thought.

Sorry if this type of writing isn't your jam I totally get that but I really needed to do a deep dive into Dick's psyche during this. It's really important to understand the self inflicted damage he's done to himself and his relationships (not physical, emotional) over the years following Endgame.

Anyways, please slide into those reviews or PMs with any criticisms, compliment or new ideas!

I really do love when I receive suggestions or ways to improve it motivates me to get new chapters out faster.

Thanks for sticking with me this far.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Suspicion

To say Connor had been surprised was an understatement.

Sure, he'd _asked_ Dick to call but after years of his old friend continuing to fold in on himself, the requests were hardly ever followed through on. It was a quite morning, sitting on a little trolly bus making his way to a coffee place to meet with Artemis (she'd asked to get together to talk about something about a week before) wishing for approximately the thousandth time that day to be allowed freedom over when he could use his powers.

Everyone had made it abundantly clear to him that _no, leaping blocks at a time in broad daylight for a lunch date was not a good idea._ At the time, he'd been pissed. Seriously, why have these insane abilities if you can't even use them for stupid stuff every now and again?

Admittedly, taking the 'scenting' route had its perks. Getting to watch the country melt away into a sprawling cityscape, for starters, was a little joy Connor had discovered as of late.

Along with getting to listen to music along the way. At times he would bring his own headphones and breathe with the music as it played.

Others, he would simply tune into whatever the other people on the bus were listening too.

Not only was it good practice for his super-hearing, but it was a hobby of sorts. At the time, the boy of steel had been chugging along Kingston Street, nodding his head to the indi rock pulsing through the earbuds of a girl dressed like a gothic mistress, which he had to say was unexpected, when a soft buzz rattling against his leg.

Curiously, Connor reached into his pocket and stared in utter shock at the screen, displaying a candid photo of a seventeen year old Dick Grayson balancing an entire gingerbread house on his nose, wielding a smile brighter the then sun, with the after images of M'gann and Roy doubled over laughing peaking out from behind him.

The simple title of 'Grayson' was scrolling patiently across the top.

Dumbfounded, he stared at his phone as it rang and rang and _rang_ , before snapping back to lucidity and swiping to answer. For a split second there was static and he feared he'd waited too long, and then a familiar voice reverberated through the white noise. "Hey Con,"

And he immediately hung up.

The screen went dark and he stared at the dull reflection looking back at him, wondering what the _hell_ just happened, and why his first instinct was to end a call he'd been waiting three years for. Was it disbelief? Frustration? Plain old impulsiveness?

No. No it wasn't that.

Connor blinked at the dark glass, before turning it on and dialling in the long since memorized digits.

He knew it wasn't any of that.

His fingers stippled across the phone screen, holding it to his ear once the abrasive ringing burrowed into his head.

"Did you... hang up on me?"

Came a confused reply after only two rings.

"Uhhh..." Connor glanced around, as if an excuse would be sitting somewhere on the bus with him, "Yes?"

He winced, one hand balling into a fist at the, frankly, stupid response. He was a blunt instrument, crafted white lied weren't really his specialty. "Really? You don't sound too sure."

"Uh... yeah, sorry. I hit the wrong button or something."

He said hesitantly, slowly uncurling his fingers and letting them drum across the hem of his shirt.

"Well, I did say I was gonna let you know when I've got some free time, didn't I?" Connor could practically hear the smile through Dick's voice.

God had it really been so long since there'd been optimism in his tone?

"I've got nothing this Friday, you game?"

For a split second, Connor thought his hand would go back into auto pilot and cut the conversation infuriatingly short.

He'd been waiting months for this, hoping that Dick would get back in touch with him. But now that it was happening?

Connor could barley process at which the speed he seemed to be bouncing back after so long of active, even aggressive disassociating.

This was his chance.

He had to take it.

C'mon you idiot, _take it_!

"Definitely. What did you have in mind?"

"Movie night. For old times sake, Artemis might be there too."

A soft smile flickered over Connor's face, as the grasp on nostalgias hand guided his memory to nights at the cave when they were all so _so_ much younger.

The popcorn and candy curtesy of the Justice Leagues private funds, something which no league members had ever discovered, they were all still pretty damn proud of it. Cheesy horror flicks accented with loud snickers at the amateurish special effects and barrage of cliches, along with a certain detective over analyzing the plot, calling out inconsistencies and proving that the murderers weren't actually the murderers.

"Absolutely. What time..?"

There was a pause, and a brief crackle of static, the sound of someone moving, and a rush of. The sound of a window being opened, or maybe it was an exhale being pushed too fast from someone's lungs.

The sound of the phone being dropped, a few steps being taken over finicky wooden floors.

There was something just a little bit wrong, but he couldn't put his fingers on it.

A red flag but the flag wasn't actually there...

He probably just dropped his phone. Nothing new. Dick was infamous for multitasking,

"Dick?"

"Eight, if that's alright."

His eyes wandered down to his free hand, which was, once again, curled into a too tight fist.

"Sounds great. I'll bring the drinks-"

"Just soda for this one Con."

He could feel the anxiety through the speaker.

"Right, can't make fun of the movie if we pass out." Connor huffed out a feeble laugh, knowing his coverup was about as opaque as glass.

"It's like you're reading my mind. I'll see you then."

The call ended, leaving one conflicted Connor Kent.

Was he happy? Sure, it had been forever since he'd gotten to spend any substantial time with one of his oldest friends. A night watching dumb comedies and overly serious dramas sounded like a blast, and Dick didn't sound _nearly_ as run down as he had a few weeks ago.

But something was nagging at the back of his mind.

The long pause. It wasn't right.

His stomach twisted horribly, like there was something burrowing into his gut. It had a name between fear and concern, but he couldn't quite place it.

Connor watched as a flower shop whisked passed the wind, followed by those two antique shops that he swore switched places ever time he took this bus.

His stop was next, and his hands switched into motion on their own.

Gathering up his little pack and stuffing his phone away as he stepped off the little grainy platform and onto the snow-slicked streets.

He felt the cold for once.

It was biting, and bitter.

A pastel plastered sign came into view, one that told of the daily specials. Normally, he'd be eager to read what he could get for cheaper, but Connor's appetite had suddenly disappeared.

 **AN:**

 **I am so sorry this took so long and is probably super underwhelming. The good news is this chapter was originally going to include what happens during their little get together and I decided to split it up for the sake of pacing. Meaning, next chapter will be long and the wait will be short.**

 **Thank you all for reading this far.**

 **Like I've said before, any complaints, criticisms, questions or compliment are welcome, just please be reasonable.**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Burning Low

It's Friday.

No turning back, no bailing.

Dick drew in a deep breath, letting his exhale blow out the little shivers spreading across his jaw.

Artemis was going to be there by seven, Connor by seven thirty.

Two hours.

Only two hours.

Something squeezed in his chest, a mix of pride and fear.

After so so so long, he was making an effort. Ruined psyche and all.

Artemis had insisted that she talk to Connor beforehand, just to acclimatize him to the situation.

Not outright of course; the impulsive and emotion driven boy of steel would have been frantic if he'd been told exactly what was going on.

Instead it was just little hints, suggestions of sorts.

Casually throwing into conversation that nightmares were a thing that some people have, maybe a hint that she'd seen Dick recently.

Little things.

Connor is smart. He's able to pick up on things like that now, especially with the two non-metas of the original six.

They have a different way of communicating, one that is stubborn and cryptic but it works when it needs to.

Dick had already spent the entire afternoon raiding the closest for spare pillows and blanks, arranging mountains of plush around the television.

Along with a quick trip to the corner store for some decidedly unhealthy snacks (popcorn and chocolate for Connor, sour candies for Artemis), and he was done with setup.

God it was so much like back at the cave. Back when they would all spend the night together huddled under the comforting weight of each other's presence.

All of them there, together.

Connor and Artemis and M'gann and Kaldur and Wal-

No.

No no no no _no_.

Dick's hands curled into balls, his nails digging little moons into his palm while his teeth clamps shut in concert with his eyes.

Don't make this harder for yourself, his mind told him, instructing that three deep breaths would be sufficient.

His eyes cracked open after the first one.

"Okay so silence isn't helping." He muttered, pulling out his phone and scrolling through a few playlists till he settled on one primarily comprised of Baroque pop and old Indi music.

It's nice.

Soft, a little jarring when they genres change, but those sets of strings skirt along his nerves and coax them into relief.

His hands, his feet too, they go onto autopilot. He moves about the apartment with a rhythmic step, tidying up what he can, though theres not much.

Dick can feel a smile flickering across his face. He can taste bit of warmth spreading to the rest of him.

For a while he simply sits and listens to the quiet music, till there's a few stiff taps at the door.

A glance at the clock informs him that he'd simply been busying himself for... two hours? Wow, time does fly when it wants to.

Gray eyes and blonde hair twisted into twin braids waiting on the other side of the wood.

"Lady Artemis." He gives a mock bow, holding his arm out to her like he was offering a dance.

"Mr. Grayson." She deadpans back, giving a over-dramatic curtsy of her own, taking his hand as her form dipped.

For half a second, it was quite.

Then they bursts into a fit of laughter.

She pulled him into a hug, still chuckling.

"Good to see you Arty."

He muttered with a quick squeeze, before taking a step back to allow her into the stout from hall.

Gray eyes dancing over the room, she snorted, turing her gaze back to his.

"Good to see your sense of humour."

In a blink her expression darkened, concern mixed with something Dick couldn't quite put his finger on.

"So what happened?"

Dick frowned, urging his feet not to step away at the sudden confrontation.

"What do you-" Her hand shot out and brushed against his face, just below the temple, and with is a sharp burn spreading across his cheekbone.

Dick flinched back, his own hand drawn up to probe at the skin.

"It's a nice colour on you, gotta say, but _you_ don't get tagged... not that hard anyways."

There's a bruise, a dark one, he's willing to bet. Probably from when he'd gotten a taste of his own blood in the earlier after his lovely little encounter with sleep paralysis.

"Huh. Don't remember getting that one."

There is only one mirror in Dick's apartment, one that sits above the sink in the bathroom. Usually it sees use early in the morning or late at night; both times where his sleep deprived brain gets severe tunnel vision and conveniently ignores any blemishes. This wasn't the first time he'd been _told_ he got hurt and didn't know, but it was still frustrating not knowing exactly what happened, even if he could make a fairly good guess.

"I know the feeling... You're still out on patrol I take it?"

She asks, her tone switching to a calmer one; guess she really was on edge about this whole situation. Dick nodded, absent mindedly following Artemis as she padded further into the room.

"Yeah, it's been relatively lowbrow stuff recently. It's a nice change of pace."

The unsaid words of _it's nice to have a break_ were left to linger in the air.

"Figures, you've been busting the big timers day and night for months."

She glanced back at him, her gaze catching on the right side of his face, and sighed in frustration.

She turned on her heel, hair whipping as she went.

"C'mere you big doof."

Artemis walked briskly past Dick, snagging his wrist and subsequently dragging him off toward the bathroom.

"You better still have good makeup or we're both screwed."

He blinked, realizing what she was getting at. Apparently, the little sting spreading over his cheek was a lot worse then he'd anticipated. Connor, no matter how much he's mellowed over the years, would still get very heated very quickly at the sight of a hurt friend.

"Bottom left cabinet, black bag."

He watched with a little smirk and upturned eyebrows as she fished out the collection of bottles and compacts.

"Sit." She ordered, pointing to the little counter jutting out on either side of the sink.

The duo sat facing each other, Dick perched on the little strip of wood, Artemis beside him, crosslegged, digging through the bag in search of an assortment of products.

"Remember back when this was like our after-mission tradition?" She asked, mixing a few shades of yellow on her forearm.

"Course I do."

Artemis' hand neared his face holding a brush covered by a thick blanket of concealer. "And I remember how surprised you were to find that I'm good with cosmetics, unlike you."

She gently swatted the side of his head, "I'm good enough now, aren't I smart-ass?"

Dick chuckled, willing himself not to pull back from the little dabs stippling over his face.

"Yeah, guess you are."

She was being gentle, but there was still a lingering burn, like a phantom pain.

They sat silently, the only sounds coming from the little radio left on and the grainy brush of powder sifting atop the bluish blemish.

Every once in a while, her fingers would touch his face, turning it to a new angle so she could cover a new spot of purple.

Artemis reached for setting spray, only to find her arm held back only by an inch, restrained by some unknown force.

Her hand dropped into her lap, stormy eyes meeting with Dick's, darting away once before settling into a firm but kind stare.

"Still having dreams?"

Now, you'd think after being fully aware of Artemis' intentions, Dick would be able to answer truthfully because he knows she only wants to help.

He knows that.

He knew she was going to ask, and he had a single response.

 _Yes_.

He wanted to tell her in a clam voice that would say in its own way _I'm getting better._

And he was, wasn't he?

But his voice decided that it was rather bored of the conversation and left him to the stillness of his own devices.

His could feel his faculties start to slip. Little sprouts of old feeling replacing what he should be feeling now, covering the security and ease felt in the present, with slivers of anxiety and hate and numbness.

There's someone touching his knee.

Or maybe there isn't.

There's someone touching his knee telling him that nightmares are okay to have.

The voice is clouded, but he knows whose it is.

It's the voice that was there when his parents weren't- when _Bruces_ wasn't.

Just one question, one stupid, easy question and his mind goes running off to some other memory that _he doesn't have time for-_

"Hey,"

Her hand is on his.

Her hand.

Her.

Artemis.

Right.

"it's cool, you know, if you still are. Or if you aren't.

He blinks a few times, the haze that glazed over his eyes clearing away- when had that happened- and sucked in a breath.

"Yeah I-... I know. Sorry, I kind of fazed out didn't I?"

She nodded, "S'fine. Not like I'm not used to it." Her eyes flickered downwards, a nostalgic look ghosting across her face.

"You used to get it a lot, that look. When we were on route for a mission, or just hanging around the cave. Suddenly you'd be a million miles away."

He watched her slowly clean up the scattered brushes and tubes, slowly cleaning each one.

"I never noticed..."

She huffed, "Don't go feeling bad about that too. I just never knew if it was okay to mention it back then. Or if anyone else caught on."

Artemis kept her eyes trained on her hands as they moved, twisting caps till they were tighter then a spring and snapping little mirrors back into place.

He leaned back, hands braced behind him so that his shoulders could release just a little bit of tension that had been building between the blades. He felt her nudge his leg.

"You wanna give me an answer or what?"

"Not really, no."

There was a swift jab to his ribs accompanied by his own surprised yelp and the force nearly knocked him from his perch.

"Be serious, dumbass." He could hear to eye-roll even if she didn't actually do one.

"I am serious."

Artemis held up the setting spray, frowning at Dick, her eyebrows creased in the middle like they always are when she's stumped.

"I don't want to have any answer."

He closed his eyes, letting the mist flit over his skin with cool clarity. He felt her weight slip off the countertop and the creak of a cabinet being opened.

He glanced downward, watching carefully as Artemis arranged the little black bag at to sit where it had before.

"Yeah. Okay, yeah I get that."

Dick followed her back to the main room, slipping into the kitchen to grab a few drinks.

Water and sprite, like always.

They reconvened by the set of couches, where Artemis was already half sitting half laying on one, with her back and shoulders pressed against the armrest and her legs stretched out over the remaining space.

"It's the whole...'be okay before you are okay' thing, isn't it?" She took a sip of her soda the second it was in her grasp.

He sighed, "I should be used to it by now, right? Should've gotten better at handling this stuff. I've had enough time taken out of my not-very-long life for healing, or whatever people want to call it."

He casually moved her legs so he could sit, only for them to reappear atop his knees, using him like a footrest.

Dick sent a playful glare, but stopped when her saw her expression.

It wasn't concern, or anger, or pity or any of the other things he'd come to expect from the people around him.

She looked content.

"Sorry," He said quickly, looking anywhere but at her.

"Hey, don't apologize. It's good. This is good." She let out a soft chuckle, leaning down to catch his gaze, "You're actually talking again. By yourself, not because I'm pestering you to."

Dick felt something pulling at his throat, tugging hard enough that he bit the inside of his lip to avoid cringing.

"I've had enough talking." He muttered, his words tasting sour and coming out much softer then he'd anticipated.

Artemis poked at his knees with her feet, "Talking isn't a bad thing, Dick."

Too much wasted time.

Way too much.

"I've had enough talking."

He knew she felt him tense. He knew because he could feel her stiffen in response.

"But not enough hurting, huh?"

Dick leaned back 'til his head was resting on the back of the couch, a dry huff leaving his lips.

"Since when are you a psychologist?"

She laughed again, a happy one this time.

"Since _you_ needed one."

The little grin that had been touching the corner of his mouth dissipated, leaving a straight, hard line.

"I'm not your responsibility Arty."

Dick watched her frown and her eyebrows push together.

"I know Dick."

Breath.

You're okay.

She's okay.

 _Breath_.

"Okay."

A few hard knocks sounded from across the room.

Artemis smirked at him, "You ready?"

"No."

She was standing in front of him, looking almost smug.

No, not almost. She definitely looked smug.

"Yes you are."

 **AN: ... Yeah I have no excuse. I just kind of forgot to post this. It's been done for a while and it slipped my mind. Apologies my dudes. Anyway I hope this lives up to expectations since I think the last chapter was a tad lacklustre.**

 **Any who, this was easily my favourite part to write thus far, and the next chapter has already proven to be a blast.**

 **As always, I really appreciate follows favourites and especially reviews if you guys have any suggestions, questions, compliments or criticisms I'd love them hear em!**

' **Til next time.**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Snakes Have Ataxia

Artemis hated feeling cold. She always had.

It was a feeling that itched up through her hands and feet and stayed under her skin for ages. Every year, whether it was for birthday, Christmas or anything in between, she asked for blankets. Blankets and sweaters and anything warm, really.

Which is why she had been absolutely ecstatic to see Connor walk through the door with a overstuffed duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Not the Dick didn't have a lot already, he had a similar relationship with the cold, but it would hardly be enough for the both of them.

She watched banter between Dick and Connor traded in volleys, eyeing the case of soda he'd settled on the table for a moment with suspicion in her mind.

Her hand wandered to her pocket where a list titled 'stupid fun' was folded, inking out a list of movies she though the three could enjoy together.

"Hey," Connor shot her a playful smile, "I see you're still insistent on hogging the couch."

Something fluttered in her stomach, nostalgia or maybe just comfort.

"I see you brought me a gift."

He smirked, allowing the bag to slip to the ground, unzipping it and tossing at least four thick quilts in her direction.

There was a triple feeling of warmth spreading through her entire being.

Physical, obviously, the ambers of old friendships finally being allowed to burn a but brighter, and Dick.

He was happy.

Like, really happy. It was damn near the most heartwarming thing she'd seen in years and she couldn't be prouder of him.

"Here," she whipped out the list and tossed it at Dick, "pick one to start with, Connor will get the TV all set."

"I will?" Came a confused mumble from him, quickly silenced by the sharp look Artemis sent at him.

A soft laugh was breathed out by Dick, making his way back to the couch.

With a hard eye roll, Connor stood and started messing with the input while Dick sat beside the blonde archer, once again being used as a footrest.

"You could sit like a normal person, you know." He glanced over with raised eyebrows.

She snorted, "This coming from the guy who sleeps in a chin-stand. I smell hypocrisy!"

A pillow flew towards her face, bumping into her cheek with enough force to do little more then make her head turn.

She chucked it back, her smile hiding the eyes that carefully studied his form, as they had been since she got there.

It was those overly pushy eyes that notice his spaciness.

That caught onto those intensely dry looks he gets whenever a memory tugs too hard at his consciousness.

That saw his twitching fingers and nervous glances.

It was something trained into her through archery, and it was useful to no end.

But at the same time it felt like a betrayal.

Like she was picking through the minds of her friends without their permission and violating hard-earned autonomy.

She hear Connor's little cheer when the screen lit up, and Dick's teasing call that technology was more an enemy to the boy of steel then monkeys ever were.

Artemis laughed and kept a steady, discrete watch.

He was relaxing into the couch cushions hands gently pattering over her blanketed legs.

 _Nothing's wrong_ , she kept telling herself as though that would make her believe it.

Truth be told, Dick seemed perfectly okay. No surface level glitch pushed forward and even looking past a few levels of his nuanced social cues all was right.

But there was a hole in her gut, scraping at her lungs and throat, turning the air a little bit thicker then it should be.

It was a sensation crawling over her back, teasing her skin, one she was painfully familiar with; anxiety.

The opening notes of a marching tune started up from the speakers, one that Artemis remembered vividly.

It was by a composer she'd liked throughout high school and earned her the nickname 'Colonel Crock', given to her by Barbara.

 _John Philip Sousa_ , the back corner of her mind, the part still listening to his thrumming compositions, supplied.

The image of roses curled across the screen, moving like snakes with ataxia.

Her dark eyes met his bright ones, gleaming with an impish amusement.

"Flying Circus. Couldn't help yourself, could you."

A smirk grew onto his face, creasing gentle crows feet into the corners of his eyes.

"You can take the boy out of the circus..." Dick glanced at Connor who was stifling a laugh, red creeping across his cheeks in vague embarrassment.

"You put it on that list, what did you think was gonna happen?" He mockingly cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Shut up and watch. I love this series."

Artemis growled playfully.

"Dork."

A shocked smile pulled at her lips when she felt a well-worn weight on her stomach where there lay a throw pillow and and elbow propping up Dick's head.

His legs remained under hers in a half-bent position that he seemed comfortable in.

Granted, he feasibly couldn't be uncomfortable with the absurd flexibility he still possessed, but she would never get used to seeing his form pretzeled like it was the easiest thing in the world.

As the intro rolled on, she was shot into the past.

Days spent at the cave, just like this.

God she'd missed it, and she had it on good authority that the two sitting with her missed it too.

They sat there quipping and laughing, nostalgia's breath passing through the air, making it feathery and easy.

It was just the three of them, content and alive and safe.

It felt good.

Until it didn't.

Amidst the buzzing conversation and flitting laughs, brevity and sense-making be damned, a tin can with a dented side sprayed sweet smelling soda across the coffee table.

"Noooo!" Dick stumbled back dramatically, fist clenched like a shakespearian actor. The laughs turn from soft to almost painful.

His eyes crinkle as a dumb little grin spreads over his lips.

"Hold up I gotta grab some towels before it ruins the wood."

 _It felt good._

His footsteps were drowned by the almost childlike giggles of Artemis and Connor, the latter presently struggling to cover the leftover soda that had shot from his nose moments before.

"God I wish I caught that on tape." Artemis said between intakes.

"Jackass." He shot back with a exasperated huff.

The episode had faded into the credits, volume turned down to a hum.

Amidst the very serious case of the giggles Artemis currently suffered from, she felt a shift in the room. The warmth hitched a little, and there was a phantom burn in her mind. Her eyes met the prying stare of Connor.

 _Until it didn't._

His mouth was pressed shut into a stubborn line, hands slowing curling and uncurling.

Awesome, the anxiety was back.

Poking and prodding at the comfort 'til she wanted to squirm.

"What's up?" She leaded forward, some part of her, a part that was desperate to move under his intense ocular assault cheered.

"Can you tell me what's going on?"

Okay, wow, not what she was expecting.

Artemis blinked, opening her mouth to respond at the very moment her brain decided to short circuit.

Fantastic.

Thus she stared, biting down on her lip to cover the stumble and trying to figure out what excuse he might buy.

In all her eloquence and grace, she decided on a (very distinguished) "Huh?"

Wincing slightly at his huff, Artemis pulled back.

"I'm not stupid, Artemis."

She held back a choked laugh. This was something she could work with.

"This just in-"

"You know what I mean." He interrupted, the hard set of his mouth freezings her attempts at humour.

"Dick's barely made contact with anyone other then you and Tim for, what, almost three years? And now all of a sudden _he's_ asking to see _us_ and- you know what's up, don't you."

Connor's face was pinched in a combination of frustration and concern.

Mentally she back-pedalled, looking for a reaction or response that could fit the situation easily enough.

But there wasn't one. She was new to this. This... whatever it was, verbalizing? Words?

"Why're you acting like it's a bad thing?" She said, trying to put at least a little confidence into the cherrypicked words.

"No I-" He shook his head, the fidgeting of his hands returning with a vengeance.

It was almost amusing how terrible they both were at this, the tripping and flustered backtracks. And how easy it was to twist words into a warfare to keep the questions at bay.

Is that messed up? Maybe a little.

But, sadly, there comes a time when a proper explanation is needed.

"I'm glad, I really am. But it's so... so sudden, and jarring too. I know it's been a long time since he left but this feels,"

He searched desperately for a word. Any remaining softness to his face was disappearing as his brain careened through an internal dictionary.

"disingenuous." He settled on with a grim frown.

She sat there with a hard question that wasn't hers to answer.

This really wasn't her place to say, it wasn't.

But Dick Grayson holds the title of 'Worst At Asking For Help' by far.

So, whose trust is she gonna bend and splitter today? The boy of _steel_ can take a few dents to his conviction, right? Is it bad to even put someone else's faith down as expendable or is that okay? Hell if she knows.

This was a mess and it was hard to keep in line with how she should be handling this. Despite her hotheadedness having largely panned out over the years, impulse was always urging her actions.

"Well," she started, eyeing him with etherized unease, "we let him be for however long he needed. This is how long he needed."

He watched her for a moment, eyes scanning every inch of her face and form, it felt like he was under her skin.

"Even if I do know... Connor, do you really want to hear it from me instead of him?"

Artemis winced internally at the irony.

She was berating him for a lack of trust.

Hah.

He gave a small nod just as the soft thumps of feet moving over the floor came from down the hall.

Artemis counted her breaths, trying to smooth out her features as to not make him suspicious.

Who was she kidding, it's _his_ house. He probably has the room bugged anyways.

Dick can read her like a damn book, even when she did her best to hide it.

Around thirteen slow breaths later, he rounded the corner with a wiry smile.

"Found some." He announced, dumping two light towels onto the puddle of still popping soda.

"Yet you can't find your keys per-daily."

Artemis said, hoping the tome of the evening would return to normal.

Or at least what it had been before.

"That was one time!" Dick groaned, plopping down next to her on the sofa.

There it was, the warmth.

She watched Connor light up out of the corner of her eye, seemingly forgetting his concerns.

"I smell a story. What happened to the keys?"

Artemis grinned, beginning her theatric, overdramatic retelling of the great Key Crisis of June wherein Dick has left his keys... somewhere (later to be discovered as having been in an old mug the whole time) and resorted to climbing in and out his window, even for normal things, for a full week and a half.

They exchanged stories about each other, the team, their families, anything for hours.

At some point they collectively passed out.

It had been a good night.

Until she awoke to a room empty of her friends, the sounds of heavy footsteps and a low, growling voice just loud enough to hear through the walls.

"You don't get to make that choice, _Connor_."

 **AN: I'm alive! And I come bearing a decent length chapter! How 'bout that.**

 **And fear not, my baby birds, I will feed you. There will be an update soon so you won't have to be stuck with the cliffhanger for long. It's gonna be fun! For me, not you guys. It's actually pretty upsetting for y'all... Anyways, as always thanks a TON for reading and please feel free to put any suggestions, criticisms, compliments or general thoughts in the reviews. It really makes my week when I get even one.**

' **Til next time!**


	12. An unfortunate update

My Dearest Readers,

I am so sorry that this is the update you're seeing but I feel like I should at least let you all know that have no idea when I'll have the next chapter up by.

I had been planning to finish and post it within the next two weeks but that is no longer possible.

See, I tore the skin off the top of my hand. It's very painful.

Moving it hurts like hell and typing one handed is frustrating to no end.

Physically, I cannot write much of anything.

This has already taken me about fifteen minutes to write out.

I apologize for the delay, and will try to give an update on when I'll be able to continue.

Sincerely, ClockworkGreen


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Tremble, Little Lion Man

The trio had crashed a little after two am, with Artemis sprawled out over the entirety of the couch, and Connor, somehow, crammed into an armchair.

Dick, on the the other hand, fell asleep somewhere he could only now recognize as cold.

Cold and hard and oddly bright.

That didn't make sense though. Even if it was morning - and it wasn't - the drapes were heavy enough to function as a tent, and stretched floor to ceiling.

And he'd payed his bills already, so it shouldn't be _this_ cold.

But still, he could feel something searing his vision, and a shiver running down his spine.

Undeniably, he felt disoriented. Hopelessly so. Like someone had done absolutely everything in their power to confuse his mind in whatever state of wakefulness or sleeping he might be it.

Everything felt fuzzy and tilted, like the dizzying lightheadedness of stepping off a roller coaster and trying to run, including the nauseating buzz of machinery that often followed.

His head was heavy, clogged up with clouds and ozone, every inhale tasted like ash.

The buzzing was getting louder, and sharper.

It definitely wasn't machinery. These stuttering sounds were too inconsistent, too untimed to be a result of anything man made.

The damp hardness on his side and shoulder didn't relent as every other sense became less and less functional.

He couldn't tell is his eyes were open or not, or if he was actually breathing.

He could feel what he assumed was the floor in uneven intervals of floating and pressure.

Part of Dick's consciousness told him it was sensory overload, another said deprivation.

Whatever it was, it shouldn't be happening in his tiny little apartment in Blüdhaven-

His eyes opened and were meet with a dark, completely quiet (save a soft hum of old water pipes) room.

Okay, so. It was a dream. A really weird, headache inducing dream.

He blinked a few times, feeling the carpeted floor beneath him and a few thick blankets over top.

And something heavy weighing down on his chest. Something pressing down and making it hard to breathe. Hard to move.

Dick sucked in a harsh breath, trying to shift.

His arms, his head, anything. But he was stuck staring across the small expanse of his living room floor. His ears were ringing and the world went pale like it _always_ did when his stupid brain decided it was time to re-traumatize him.

Dick felt his jaw clench involuntarily and he desperately tried to look anywhere that wasn't the walls with a shadow dancing across them. Shadows so clear and ridged deep inside his head he knew they weren't real.

He knows they're just... just figments.

Phantoms that'll disappear if he could just _start breathing again._

He squeezed his eyes shut when a muffed hum filled his ears.

It was a horrific hybrid of voices. Of people that stuck to him like static infused string.

Each layered atop one another and it was _loud_.

They may be whispering but Dick's head was ringing and it sounded like a choir of old failings and regrets.

And there was the _whistling_.

Again, there was that stupid tune from that stupid commercial that had alway wormed it's way into Wally's head and Dick would end up hearing it on loop for years. The sound of traffic was gone, as was the rumbling of pipes from his old building and the breaths of Connor and Artemis. It was just him.

Him and _it._

Dick struggled to take in air, feeling his hands curl and scrap for purchase over empty floors. The sounds of reality drained further, leaving those awful mutterings and high pitched whistle. He was starting to panic. Ice filled his stomach as he felt slight tingling of feeling in the tips of his hands.

 _There._

 _Focus on that._

The feeling spread, tugging the sounds he was accustom to back into the forefront until a burst of adrenaline pushed his back off the ground and into an awkward sitting position. He stood shakily, refusing to change his gaze to anything other than his feet as they moved carefully.

With a choked inhale Dick stumbled into the hall, one hand brushing against the wall so he didn't have to open his eyes again to the pitch black interior and looming shadows.

Just in case.

Those shadows had never been unnerving before, he'd practically grown up in them. But the uncanniness was started to play with his head.

He felt the familiar handle that led to the washroom and slipped inside.

Dick flipped on the lights and collapsed against the wall.

The cool tiles helped to ground him, however slightly, but the stinging on his eyes only grew.

His back pressed tightly against the plaster and he drew his knees closer.

A hand rose up to cover his eyes, the other held over his mouth as a wave of sickness plowed through his stomach.

His head felt light and hot while the rest of him was heavy, exhausted by the burnout of socializing for much longer then he was currently used to, and sick from the memories.

Once upon a time Dick could thrive off interaction. It was his main source of dopamine and was hardly ever skipped out on. Now, after months and months of self-imposed isolation... it was challenging.

He didn't get his energy from people anymore, he usually got it from work and a decent sleep, though the latter was few and far between.

He kept the hand over his eyes, moving the other to rest over his neck, balanced on the vain he could hear drumming in his skull.

He counted each pulse, breathing in on every third and pushing the air back out three later.

Dick timed it, slowed it, not knowing or caring how long it took.

He didn't even try to move his hands from his face 'til there was a quiet tap on the door.

Connor still had a pair of earbuds in when he'd glanced around the room, and typically thieves are quite a bit less polite, so that left Artemis.

Dick swallowed hard, keeping his gaze closed off as his hand sunk to the floor for leverage.

"I'm okay," he breathed out, just above a whisper. It was choked and crackling but at least his voice was there. Real, and not the product of some cruel coping method.

"You sure?" A hushed, gravely voice that definitely was not Artemis asked, "You sound shaky."

Dick pushed himself off the ground, tentatively placing three fingers on the metal doorknob.

"Connor? Weren't you-"

"Yeah, no, I wasn't-... I was worried. Brought old headphones. They don't work. Sorry."

Dick felt hints of betrayal creeping up his spine but they were drowned out by the hypersensitivity to everything.

"It's- it's fine, Con. Just gimme a sec."

He braced a head on the chilled floor, pushing himself upright and opening his eyes to a blinding brilliance of CFL lights.

He quickly flipped them off— both to lessen the migraine traveling through his brow, and to hid any excessive paleness or sweat— and gave the doorknob a quick, nearly soundless twist.

Somehow Connor's gaze glowed, boring into him like it alway has with that borderline infuriatingly innocent curiosity.

"You weren't breathing right."

 _Damnit._

 _Freakin' superhearing._

Dick's grip tightened around the doorframe. "That so? Weird."

The flippant tone fell flat.

He casually slipped around him, padding towards the kitchen with Connor on his heels.

"I can hear your heartbeat, y'know."

Dick felt ripples of _I'm not ready for this_ tearing through his head, worming into his motor functions and bringing his hands into trembling fists.

He turned, sighing through clenched teeth and a layer of panic, "Listen it was just a garbage dream. I'm no stranger to nightmares and neither are you. Just drop it."

His eyes squeezed shut. Dick watched as Connor almost frantically shook his head.

"No no no... that's- you're lying. You're lying and so was Artemis last night. I _know_ you." That damn stare was back, burning holes into Dick's already aching head.

He stayed silent for a long while. Refusing to meet that icy blue gaze. There was too much. This was too much. It was suffocating.

 _I can't do this._

 _Not again._

He forced out a breath, taking special care to control it. Using it to ground him alongside the hand now holding the kitchen counter.

He didn't remember grabbing it.

"And what if I am?"

He met Connor's gaze with a decidedly hardened look, letting go of his support and letting his shoulders line up with the rigidity of his spine.

"Dick, you can talk to me. What's going on." He said near pleadingly, taking a step forward. A step that happened _way_ too quickly in Dick's mind. Maybe it's the exhaustion.

Probably was.

Dick backpedaling a half step, phoning in a small smile that wasn't as friendly as it should be.

"Woah, your nose it poking in where it doesn't belong, Con."

Dick's smirk faltered and fizzled as he tried to uphold a less confrontational tone.

He knows, better than most, that this is how arguments— arguments about dumb things that don't need to be argued about— escalates so quickly. No one backs down.

 _I really don't need a fight right now._

He resisted the urge to close his eyes and ignore every word Connor was saying.

"Can't you just tell me? There's no use in dancing around it."

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Dick sighed defeatedly. His posture deflated, looking ready to be done with the conversation and maybe some good sleeping meds.

"Why do you need to know?"

 _It's only a fight if you make it a fight it's only a-_

"Because I think you should come back, I guess."

Connor's face was light and his smile feathery when he said it. Something inside Dick snapped.

That expression.

Those words.

 _You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you Boy Scout Jr?_

His shoulders were quivering silently, his jaw clenched tight alongside the general numb defeated rage bubbling beneath his skin.

"Stop it. Stop doing that."

Connor blinked, tilting his head in that innocent, stupid little gesture that's supposed to telegraph confusion instead of further push Dick into the fiery frustration beckoning him to it's side.

"Doing what?" He asked, inching backwards at the suddenly, subtle hostility reverberating from his friend.

Dick balled his fists,

"That! You- you act like every problem can be fixed in an afternoon. Like you," He gestured towards Connor accusatorially, " you _specifically_ can take care of it."

He caught himself before the tone turned scathing and let out a breath.

"I get it, hero work makes you want to help, but this white knight complex isn't all that appealing."

Armes folded against his chest, Dick desperately avoided eye contact as the standard offer was about to be repeated.

"I'm trying to extend a hand! Invite you back to the Team, to the League."

The hero nearly shouted. The hints of exasperation were telling, not to mention the biting undertones of hurt.

A warm hand appeared on Dick's shoulder.

A look that once upon a time made his entire week now had his blood feel inexplicably hot.

He shrugged off the shoulder,

"Not interested."

He started to turn towards the door but that hand materialized again on his arm, halting his pivot.

 _Trapping_ him.

In a kitchen, of all places.

"Everyone's been worried. You disappeared for years, Dick."

Again he brushed off the contact with a bit more force than wholly necessary, whirling around to face his friend. Deliberately, he made eye contact as he spoke, hoping to create some kind of discomfort to make the bullheaded teen back off.

"Christ. I'm starting to doubt the superhearing thing because clearly nothing I say is being heard."

Dick's eyes were hard and clouded with a distinct wrinkle of back off.

Apparently Connor still isn't all that attuned to reading people.

No, thats not it.

He _knows._

How could he not know? They've been friends for years.

"Tell me what's going on than so I can understand."

He pressed, continuing to move forward and utterly crowd Dick, who suppressed the urge to scream and take a swan dive out the window that sat mockingly close to him.

"I'm _not_ your responsibility."

He ground out, trying not to feel trapped once again when his backpedaling landed his shoulder blades neatly into a wall with a soft thump.

He could feel jitters crawling up his arms and fluttering around his neck.

Lungs expanding just a bit faster than normal alongside the growing frenetic haste to the motion of his eyes.

Panic.

It was welling up inside him like water against a dam.

Ready to flood everything around it.

Ready to _hurt_ everything around it.

And here Connor was with a stake and hammer a goddamn _super strength_ , having a grand time chipping away at the cracks and fractures.

"But I'm your friend."

He seemed so genuine and that only stoked to heat rushing through Dicks head.

"A friend that's pushing me to disclose sensitive information, yeah."

He said in a dry, strained voice.

"That's not-"

The other hero started, looking startled and mixed between apologetic and defensive.

"Oh it is."

Dick wasn't allowing him the privilege of choice right now. He doesn't _get_ to defend himself or apologize. Already, he's made the decision to have this conversation when the Dick clearly didn't. Overtly didn't.

It's selfish.

Dick knows its selfish.

But his patience is _gone_ and his forgiveness is _gone_ and his friends are _gone_ and people keep saying they want to talk but _no one ever listens-_

"Why don't you want to come back?" Connor's voice jerked him out of his thoughts unpleasantly. The warmths in his tone burned away into coolness, almost sounding accusatory. Definitely _feeling_ accusatory with the glare he was currently fixed with.

"It's like you... I don't know, like you don't want to get better."

He blinked.

And then the rage boiled back up.

"Wow, okay. First off, screw you."

Dick snapped, his mouth twisting into a scowl, "Second, it's none of your business. I will readily admit I'm not great at asking for help but I'm telling you right now to back the hell off."

He huffed, pushing his back off the wall and hoping his friend would back down and let him get some coffee before this grows into a genuine rift between them.

As pissed as he is right now, he don't want that to happen.

He can't let that happen.

As childish and melodramatic as it may seem, Dick can't afford to lose another friend, not over this.

But Connor pushed forward, once again seeming deaf to every word that Dick said

"Maybe... maybe it's time to stop this."

He frowned.

"What?"

Connor sighed, looking at his feet as his fingers ran over his cropped hair.

Carding through it over and over as he started what sounded like a practiced speech.

"This. You've been doing it for years, Dick. You cut yourself off and make yourself miserable and leave all of us behind to wonder if you're going to die the next day."

He backed up (finally) and was pacing, gesturing as he went.

"I wouldn't-"

Connor threw up his hand,

"And how were we supposed to know that?" He practically shouted, his voice crackling with everything from fear to soul shattering sadness.

"You never said anything! Never told us you were okay or might need help. Do you even realize how many times we thought you were dead?"

Huh.

 _That had never come to mind_. A small part of him mumbled, handling the words carefully and filing them away from later.

How much later, the small part was unsure. The rest of him ignored the painful crack in Connor's voice and the look of concern on his face in favour of matching his volume.

"I wasn't getting any _better_ , Connor! You think I can just force myself into doing things to for _your_ comfort?"

He jabbed a finger at Connor, his jaw twitching, _daring_ the other to do anything other than walk away.

"We weren't going to-"

There.

The dam. It's bursting open and Dick is too.

"Well for the first time in my life I didn't feel like I had exist perfectly in everyones else's lives." The words tumbled from his mouth, sounding so unpracticed that his words melted into one another.

He drew in a fast breath, hardly giving himself a moment to calm in the slightest, instead allowing the urge to yell carry his words with enough trembling rage to make a lion shy away.

"Pretending nothing is wrong in one identity is hard enough and let's not act like I wouldn't've been everyone else's support because that's just how my stupid brain works." Dick choked out a laugh, a cold empty one, "I become a damn therapist for everyone around me and I feel like garbage if I don't. So yeah, I did cut myself off. It was the only way to remove other people from the equation. I'd still be the universal confidante if I hadn't."

He saw through the haze of fading emotion the flinch from the hero standing in front of him.

"I... I never saw you like that."

Dick's mouth pressed down, his throat growing tighter and more suffocated by everything that was happening.

"Don't you dare pity me."

He managed to push the sentence from his touge, spitting them like the mere taste of the words made him fee ever more ill and shaky.

Connor's face twisted, his eyes pinched in a pleading sort of way that matched his furrowed brows.

"I'm not pitying you."

The corners of his mouth were twitching like they used to when he couldn't find the words.

The frustration that had such a strong hold on Dick's mind loosened.

Just enough for betrayal to tap in and direct the tone of his voice.

"Than why'd you keep trying to reach me?"

Another sigh sounded from Connor.

"I wanted you to come back."

A flare jumped up from the pit of his stomach. Dick felt his hands curl and the taste of metal in his mouth

"You don't get to make that choice, _Connor_."

AN:

 **First, an apology. This took too long. Way too long. Y'all deserve better I swear...**

 **Thank you all so much for having patience with me and I am going to start updating more consistently (most likely twice a month)**

 **My hand is healed up and massive thanks to everyone who offered reassurances about the delay. I hope it was worth it.**

 **A common misstep of recovery stories is the lack of conflict and... like... when traumatic shit happens people react differently and thats gonna cause some not-immediately-noticeable rift in relationships.**

 **As always I appreciate compliments, criticism and suggestions. I love you all. Until next time.**


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Today will have Ended

Artemis froze at the sheer hostility in the voice echoing from the room over. At _Dick's_ voice.

She rose from the couch, trying to overcome the clumsiness of sleep as she picked her way over to the kitchen.

Both Dick and Connor had fallen silent when her shadow fell across the tiles they stood upon, neither daring to move an inch.

Dick's back was to her, but she could see the tension skipping down his spine, the shake in his shoulders and audible tremble to his breaths. Connor's face was set hard in a desperate attempt to keep back three years worth of angry, frustration and guilt.

She moved forward, reaching to place a hand on Dick's shoulder but aborted the motion, letting her arm drop to her side.

Eyes darting between them, Artemis felt dread drilling into the base of her skull.

"Dick?" She called gently, "are you-... What happened?" She hardly cared about the crack in her voice.

He didn't answer.

Of course he didn't, why would he? How could he? His jaw is clenched so tightly shut it would be surprising if he didn't mess up a molar or two.

Her feet shuffled against the cool floors, circling around Dick, almost wholly ignoring the now seemingly shame ridden Connor, until she caught view of his profile.

Water was pushing against his eyelashes and his face was like iron.

Her hand brushed lightly over his arm. "Hey, c'mere."

Artemis took his hand, tugging his frame towards her to little avail. All thoughts of Connor being in the room vanished as her worry grew, watching him look frozen in place with blood beginning to well from his mouth were she can almost seeteeth grinding into the soft part of his cheek.

A hand ghosted over his face, gently brushing over his jaw and temple, hoping for just a shift in his eyes to meet hers, or a release of tension at the contact.

"Dick. Say something." She tried to sound like a leader, like it was an order.

Call it manipulation but she knows he has an autopilot that listens to a certain tone, the one that Bruce and Kaldur used during missions and briefings.

But he was shutting down. Internally, everything was probably just a buzz and there was no doubt in her mind that he just wanted to let out the breath he's holding and close his eyes.

The briefly stern demeanour melted back into concern as she took his hand and squeezed, looking up into his wavering eyes.

No reaction.

Artemis tried again, quickly tightening her grip around his palm until she felt a small twitch from his fingers, and the sensation of his hand squeezing hers carefully was euphoric, followed by a wave of relief crashing over her.

He still stood frozen, looking as though he just watched the sky tumble, shaking shoulders and all.

There was a sharp step cracking over the kitchen tiles and Artemis suddenly was taken miles away from this private little moment and shoved back into a room with Connor as their audience.

He was moving towards Dick, a hand coming into view intent on resting upon his shoulder. "I didn't-" He started weakly.

Artemis turned her head sharply and held back a biting remark, though her expression was clear and true.

"Don't. Not now." She said in a strained voice, turning her torso towards him and blocking the majority of Dick's still bowed frame out of sight.

He drew his hand back in, looking confused and almost hurt. "I...I was just trying to-"

"Connor." She cut him off again, barley managing to even out her tone, "You've done enough."

A look came over his face. One she used to see in the mirror quite often, and one both M'gann and Kaldur often wore, not to mention the amounts of times she caught glimpses of it bleeding through _Nightwing's_ mask. She had never seen it on Connor, but it spoke in same phrases.

 _Oh._

 _Oh I'm the bad guy._

Her gaze set itself like iron.

 _Oh indeed, big guy._

She twisted away as he fumbled back towards the living room to hastily gather what little he'd brought.

Moments later she heard the front door slamming shut.

Empathy flooded her in spades when she felt her friend flinch at the sudden noise.

She gave his hand another squeeze, one he quickly returned.

Her still slightly hazy eyes met his watery ones. "Hey," she said gently, "wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head in an almost graceful manner, managing to unclench his free hand and tap his lips, looking at her with a half-hopeful expression. Begging her to understand what he was trying to say.

Her brow furrowed, "No words. Gotcha. That's fine."

She thought for a moment then with every ounce of willpower she had, Artemis smiled reassuringly and took his other hand in hers.

"You wanna make some hot chocolate?"

Relief flooded his features along with a split second half-smile.

For a few minutes she scurried around the kitchen, turning on the kettle and digging out two oversized mugs, filling the bottom with cinnamon, cream and chocolate powder while the water came to a boil.

From the corner of her eye she saw Dick working at his jaw with his hands, flexing it carefully, though she pretended not to see.

Her hands flurried over the mugs, pouring the steaming water and finding spoons for each. She set one beside Dick and cupped the other with both hands, though not bothering to sip it.

"So," she began casually, "your voice come back yet?"

He swallowed hard, nodding uncertainly.

"Kinda." He said cautiously.

"There's no rush Dick, it's not a race." She leaned forward experimentally, watching for any winces or micro expressions on his face, "It's just... I'd sorta like to know what just happened?"

He looked down.

"He wanted answers." Dick flinched at his own words, each one sounded like it stuck to his mouth uncomfortably.

"He _deserves_ answers." He let out a watery sigh, a look coming over him that was almost alway a precursor to some kind of shutdown. "I didn't want to give him any."

She watched his chew on his lip, swallowing back to blood that had likely been pooling around his teeth with a sour grimace. "Something's really wrong, Artemis." He whispered, just barely loud enough to hear.

"How so?" She asked cautiously, trying to catch his eye from where they were glued to his feet.

"I don't- I feel like I'm going crazy." He bitterly laughs out, reeling in the haunted smile that passes over him.

"Everything, all at once. Its all crashing down on me and- and I can't..." his voice was shaking.

Her lips parted and she wished _desperately_ that she could pull him into a hug and tell him it would be okay, even if it was a lie. His face twitches like there rain hitting him, "I see all the people I lost every time I so much as stumble. I can't close my eyes without nightmares and sleep paralysis coming to kick my ass and I haven't been on patrol all week because-" he stopped abruptly. His hands were shaking, even curled into fists. "I _fell_ , Artemis." His shoulders dropped and everything clicked into place for her.

Like finishes a horrible jigsaw puzzle, she saw the whole picture and it was so much worse than all the little pieces led her to believe.

"I was talking to Connor, asking him to come here- I was coming home from patrol and I thought I saw him and I _fell_."

Breaths coming is trembling gasps, he dragged his head up to look at her properly.

Twin tears were slowly tracing down his face, his mouth pressed in a hard line.

"I don't know what to do."

Artemis felt shock and concern flood her being.

She didn't know it was this bad.

How could she have known? Nonetheless, guilt slammed into her gut.

Her face crumpled as she watch his wipe away the tears with the back of his hand, muttering apologies to her. Everything from rage to horror to concern flash through her head.

He was _apologizing_.

Artemis dropped her mug onto the counter and surged forward, pulling him forward and wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

She felt him shivering against her, she heard the suppressed hitches in his breath. More apologies. More cracks in his voice.

"Don't you dare apologize." She told him fiercely, one hand snaking upwards to curl into his hair, gently inviting him to lean his head onto her shoulder. He accepted, his own arms raising up to cling to her like a lifeline.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, hear me?"

They stayed like that until she felt him nod weakly. Slowly, Artemis pulled away, frowning when Dick's head immediately dropped downwards.

She placed a hand on either side of his face, guiding his gaze upwards.

His face cupped between her fingers, she searched his expression, for _something_.

"We're gonna get you through this."

She told him pointedly, leaving no room for debate. He blinked and another tear rolled.

Artemis brushed it away with her thumb and he smiled a tiny, insignificant, world shattering smile.

"It's gonna be okay."

He closed his eyes and breathed.

"Yeah."

"You're gonna be okay."

It isn't a lie. Not this time. She won't let it be.

 **AN: Yall know the drill. I'm sorry for the wait, I suck, thank you for being patient and I SWEAR I'm trying to get better at being consistent here. The relationship between Dick and Artemis is purely platonic by the by! Those of you paying attention may remember that setup with the call between Connor and Dick! Chekhov's gun babes! I've been waiting MONTHS to pay that setup off!**

 **Anyways...It's getting harder to write this story because, like, I know for fact that PTSD isn't something that every really goes away so my planning has been all over the place and making the actual writing part kinda whack.**

 **Hope you're still enjoying it though! As always, criticism, comments, compliments, anything is appreciated and I love yall.**

 **Later!**


	15. all there is

I'm really sorry. You are all wonderful and I'm so glad people have connected with my story this much.

The support and feedback has been incredible and I hate to have to do this but I'm letting this story go.

You are welcome to stick around for the explanation, but if not feel free to head off.

I hope you enjoyed your stay.

I started writing this because of a conversation I had with a friend. I wrote the first chapter on a whim and kept writing until it wasn't coming from the little headcanon the two of us had talked about.

It was me. All of it was just me. It was really personal and highly derivative of my own experiences and how I coped with thing and learned to get better.

For a while it actually really helped me to visualize my own progress and have it exist on paper. I was doing good, and it reflected in the characters.

Then my cat died.

It may sound silly but it was traumatic. The whole event.

She got sick and I tried to take her to the vet. She died on our way there. I was holding her, trying to find a heartbeat in the backseat of an uber and the world might as well have been ending.

A friend was there with me and I remember just... kept repeatedly asking her "What do I do? I don't know what to do."

And she said "There's nothing you can do."

I tried so so hard to be okay. I cried a lot because I'd just lost my best friend of six years. I isolated myself and felt unmotivated in every sense of the word.

Panic attacks became more frequent for me, which is bad because when I have panic attacks I disassociate and scratch at my skin without even realizing it.

I was away from home living at school and trying not to lean on anyone.

I tried to write but I didn't know what to do with the situation I'd created. It was too close to where I was in the moment and I didn't know a way out. If I didn't know one, how was I supposed to write one for these characters?

For a while things just kept getting worse.

My grandmother's dementia took a nosedive and she doesn't remember me half the time. My grandpa was sent to the hospital. I was hardly able to see my friends because I only came home every few weeks and school was getting harder. I couldn't write.

My misophonia was going haywire 24/7 and everything felt like a dream.

It sucked.

I'm doing better now, so please don't worry, but I just can't continue this fic. Its hard and it makes me feel shitty and reminds me of the deep well I just had to claw my way out of and not in a triumphant way. In a scary way. I don't want to put myself in that mindset even for a story. It doesn't help me anymore.

So... After the Tone is gonna be abandoned.

I'm not telling you all this because I want pity or sympathy. Honestly this is a very selfish way for me to exorcise some of those demons by admitting it to myself and to other without the pressure of it being in person, if that makes any sense.

I needed to get this off my chest and I feel like you guys also deserve an explanation instead of me just fading into obscurity.

I am still writing, just different stuff now.

I've moved to ao3 under the username SiryyGray if anyone wants to still read my writing.

Thank you all so so much. I'll see you on the other side.


End file.
